


Dimples

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anairë has always found elves her age to be immature and childish. She sees no reason to believe that this elf isn't exactly the same as the rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dimples

“Now, you must know that I am right.”

“Must I, Nelyo?”

Anairë looked up from her book as she heard voices drifting over the hillside. She was not quite sure who was coming. Atar and Amil had probably mentioned some important visitor coming this way from Tirion, since Atar always knew who was coming to visit Ingwë, but they were always ever so boring. Talk of jewels and children, and a lack of intelligent discussion without insults. And these two boys sounded like nothing more than the typical children from everywhere. Really, they were always around her age, but acted like they were no more than two.

While she had been fuming at the interruption to her reading, the boys had crossed over the hill. One of them was red haired, laughing merrily as he motioned his horse to race ahead of the other elf. The other made to race after him, but then spotted her. She groaned as he approached.

“Hello,” he said, dimples showing as he smiled. “How are you today?”

“Trying to read my book,” she grumbled. “You two are making it quite difficult, with your prancing around on your horses.”

He laughed, and she had to keep herself from smiling at that. “My apologies if we have! My nephew and I are making a trip, and we’re taking a break from all the pomp we normally have.”

“Your nephew?” she said, before biting her tongue. Really, she shouldn’t encourage this nonsense.

“Ah, yes. His father is older than me, by a fair amount. My eldest nephew - the one with me - and I are quite close in age. I have another nephew and one on the way who are younger than me though,” he said, smiling again.

“You like your nephews?” she said back. What was it about this elf that made her unable to be quiet?

“Yes,” he said. “Their father and I might have our differences, but all my nephews are good elves.”

For a second, they looked at each other, and she thought he was about to kiss her. Then he quickly darted his hand out and grabbed her book.

“My book!” she said, leaping up to try and get it back. He held it above his head though, and try as she might she couldn’t reach it. He was just too tall. She barely suppressed her urge to stomp her foot.

“What will you give me in return for it?” he teased.

Her response was swift. Taking her cloak off, she threw it over his head and yanked. He tripped and started to fall. Ordinarily, she would have felt quite pleased by this development, as it would allow her to reach her book. She had not counted on him falling down the hill, nor for her to not be able to let go of the cloak before she started to fall down the hill with him.

Splash! They both fell in the pond at the bottom of the hill. She immediately tried to stand up, before finding that the weight of her dress was making that quite impossible with it weight. She tried harder, before feeling herself grasped and pulled upwards. Of course, he would have to be noble and do that, so that she couldn’t even be angry at him.

Then she looked at him, and saw that he was grinning. “What?” she snapped.

“I kept your book dry,” he said grinning like a lunatic.

Anairë couldn’t help it, and burst into laughter. “Alright - alright, you win,” she said. “Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Win? Do you mean that you’ll grant me the pleasure of courting you?” he said, still grinning.

“Of course, though I don’t think falling down a hill into a pond is the kind of beginning to a courtship that my parents imagined for me,” she giggled as she spoke. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Quite possibly not,” he said. She noticed that his eyes sparkled when he smiled, especially one of those smiles that showed his dimples. “My name is Nolofinwë. You can just call me Nolo, though.”

Before she could register the implications of that, he had swept down and given her a kiss on the cheek. As she blushed, he grabbed her hand and they began to make their way back up the hill.


End file.
